Defeat in Victory
by TheRepeat
Summary: A victorious Lyon laments all he has lost. Dark.


**Defeat in Victory**

* * *

There was nothing special to it. It was totally random.

Sure, the monsters Fomortiis had summoned to defend the Black Temple were the strongest he had ever created, but I knew in my heart of hearts that Eirika's team far surpassed my own. The Dracozombies were tough, certainly, but a little teamwork and maybe a capable healer could easily deal with them; regardless, the Entombed and the Wights stood no chance.

I, in fact, had had no intention of winning this battle. This was merely to buy time, maybe weaken the enemy, before the Demon King summoned his massive form to lay waste to them.

Eirika hadn't even brought her full team. In fact, she couldn't, due to the narrow corridors the temple offered as its combat arena. Twelve of the finest soldiers on Magvel, hailing from Frelia to Rausten, each capable enough to travel through these hallways alone, each more than a match for dozens of my own undead warriors, now graced this hallowed temple.

Eirika was no different. She wielded that shining blade of thunder, Sieglinde; such a holy weapon, the Holy Twin sword from Renais, left each Revenant as a pile of smoke, each Wight grinded to a fine powder at a mere touch from the blade of monsters' bane. Even on her own, she was so capable, so utterly powerful, that the enemies could not touch her.

But luck was not on her side.

The simple Wight archer had fired blindly in a vain attempt to hit something. It was a dodge Eirika had made dozens, hundreds, thousands of times; but this time was different. That point-one-percent chance came true. By a horrid stroke of fate, the arrow hit home.

The arrow struck a critical blow, and she fell from her horse, clutching at the dire wound to her abdomen. She gazed down at her shaking hands; stared into her bloody palms. Her lips quivered, possibly trying to call for help, possibly mustering some final words—but no sound escaped her before her head fell back, unconscious of mortal exsanguination.

The monsters were merely unthinking, unfeeling constructs, but even they seemed surprised to see that they had at last felled one of the enemy's number.

I was stunned; I watched through the monsters' eyes as the life left Eirika's body. My teeth dug into my tongue, and it wasn't long before the copper taste filled my mouth.

Another Wight poked at Eirika's body with its lance, as though to ascertain that she was, in fact, defeated; at the motion, a round object fell from her pocket.

The Sacred Stone of Rausten. The monsters all recoiled, hissing and screeching, at the sight of the holy object.

I missed a beat, but the command came nonetheless. "Destroy," I ordered, spitting blood as I did so.

The monsters complied; within seconds, a horde of lances was upon the Sacred Stone, and it shattered, just like the four before it.

Ancient, irreplaceable magic dissipated into the air as the Stone crumbled. Eirika's last hope, just like her, was thoroughly quashed.

The rest of Eirika's party was separated, so it would be some time before they learned of her fate; for the remainder of the battle, I could only numbly think of how peaceful her expression had been in death. She had even had the courtesy to close her eyes, to give me some faint hope that she could still, somehow, be alive; that she was just resting.

But as the other eleven members of Eirika's band gathered before this room, looking around for their missing member, my jaw set in a firm realization that, yes, Eirika was dead. There was no deluding myself otherwise.

 _"Lyon!"_ was the first word I heard. Of course it was from Ephraim; who else could it have been?

Ephraim's horse trotted forward, just out of Naglfar's range. Ephraim's eyes narrowed warily as he approached—I wasn't even standing to meet him, but simply sitting there on the stair steps with my arms draped lazily across my knees, so I could understand his suspicion. My hair was unkempt, and I felt a wide, dark dread in my eyes that spelled doom.

"Lyon!" Ephraim repeated. "Will you still stand in our way?"

"She's dead, you know," I mumbled. My eyes were baggy and bloodshot, when they had been cold and concise merely a half-hour before.

Ephraim flinched. "Wh-What?"

"Eirika," I continued. "It shouldn't have happened." I glanced up at Ephraim, half-grinning despite my thorough lack of humor. "But here we are."

"Eirika…? Impossible!"

I could see the disbelief that Ephraim wanted me to see, but I saw further into Ephraim than that. There was a fear. A real one.

I shrugged uselessly. "Her body is in the southeast corridor."

Ephraim raised his fire lance, Siegmund. "Not another word, Lyon! On your feet!"

I sighed, and heaved myself off of the stairs. "Very well, Ephraim. I accept your challenge. But understand: I am much stronger than I have ever been. All the unforgivable acts I have committed… truly, they are atrocities, but I am the stronger for them. These are not the training grounds anymore, Ephraim. If we fight, you _will_ lose."

"…You're wrong," said Ephraim simply. "You are still no match for me, Lyon. I will show you that much."

I saw the determination in his eyes. Ephraim believed in himself, one hundred percent.

And I agreed with Ephraim. I was, indeed, much more powerful than ever, and Naglfar was certainly a threatening weapon—but Ephraim had always been my superior in combat, and now wielded a legendary weapon himself. This was a fight I could not win.

However, without the Sacred Stone, any victory of Ephraim's was for naught.

And at the conclusion of our fight, when Ephraim withdrew the bloodied blade of Siegmund from my chest, I simply collapsed in a pool of my own blood without a word.

I felt no reason to gloat. I gained no satisfaction from knowing that, even though Ephraim had slain me with little effort, he would still fall before the Demon King.

I watched in a state of delirious half-consciousness as the eleven warriors ascertained Eirika's location. I could not hear their words until Ephraim's last:

"We cannot waver. We must do what the ancient heroes could not: defeat the Demon King without a Sacred Stone. We can… We can worry about Eirika later."

I closed my eyes. _You cannot,_ I thought. _He is… undefeatable._

I found myself unable to reopen my eyes. I heard their footsteps trudging past me, the eleven heroes of Magvel marching to their doom; a sudden urge grew within me, that I must warn them, that they must not let Eirika's death be in vain!

…But it would change nothing. Whether they marched to their doom, or waited for it to come to them, they were now as dead as me. I, Lyon—the Demon King—had won.

I released a great sigh; my dying breath.

…

* * *

…

 **…**

 **"ARISE."**

All-consuming darkness surrounded me. I blinked my eyes rapidly, but open or closed, I could see nothing.

"Lyon. Acknowledge me."

"Wha… Fomortiis?" My brow furrowed. "Why am I here? I thought I…"

"Died?" A deep, rumbling laughter vibrated through me. "Yes. You did. What a noble sacrifice; I should feel honored to have such a capable servant, willing to throw away his own life for me."

"So how are we talking now?"

"You were kind enough to give me your body when we first met," the Demon King said. His words were true, but he still sounded so infuriatingly mocking. "So, I decided to return the favor. I preserved your soul, and made a new body for it. Oh, don't worry; it's identical to your previous one."

"What?! Why would you do that?" I demanded.

Fomortiis sensed the hint of desperation in my tone, and his laughter returned, this time deafening; my hands shot to my ears, but the volume was unaffected. "HAHAHAHAHA! What is it, little human?! Would you rather I let you die? Come now. Every living creature's single-minded purpose is to stay alive; you are no different."

A single pair of golden eyes alit in the darkness. I froze in horror at the sight.

"I know you very well, Lyon. I _was_ you. I know your every flaw… your every desire. I know more about yourself than you do; I am not clouded by your sense of justice and self-righteousness, so I can see you for what you _really_ are."

"A-And what, exactly, is that?" I asked, venturing for callousness but coming off unsteady instead.

"Hm ha ha ha ha… I'll let you figure that out for yourself. In the meantime… My body has been recreated, so I have no further use of yours. I will let you off of the proverbial hook."

"Your body…" I murmured. "So… Ephraim?"

"Dead," the Demon King stated. "As are all of his friends. The Black Temple has been cleansed of human defilement. My monsters are spreading across the continent as we speak; I will soon move to Rausten, and then, the rest of Magvel." The eyes narrowed to animalistic slits. "You have been an excellent pawn, Lyon, so I will grant you a few favors. The first: I leave a miniscule sliver of my power with you, so you can see through my or my monsters' eyes, and watch as we crush the continent to dust. It is through this sliver that we are speaking right now."

I shuddered. "I…"

"You may also continue your necromancy, of course," Fomortiis continued. "Remember Monica? Hahaha… You can have as many Monicas as you want."

"I am not Orson," I snarled. "I don't need a… a _morph_. I am not a fool."

"Your first point is correct." Fomortiis chuckled. "For all you have done, my faithful servant, I will grant you one request. What would you do with the power of the Demon King?"

I immediately knew, and all his prior slights were forgotten. "Spare Grado," I said swiftly. "In your conquest of Magvel… do not harm my homeland."

There was a long pause as the Demon King mulled over my request. I dug my nails into my palms, anxiety overwhelming me, and I doubted a favorable reply more and more with each passing moment.

"…I see. Very well. I will grant you your one wish. Grado will not be harmed by my hand, nor by my monsters'."

Relief washed over me. Everything had led up to this moment, and… "Thank you."

"Hm ha ha ha… When you awaken in the Black Temple, I recommend you do not leave. Magvel is an unsafe place these days, I hear. Hahahahaha…"

* * *

Oh, was Fomortiis right.

The Black Temple was thoroughly empty. I wandered into the Demon King's chamber, expecting to find a pile of bodies that were once the heroes of Magvel.

But no. Nothing. _Not a trace of human defilement, indeed,_ I mused.

I stopped myself to chuckle at my own thought. Was I so far removed from humanity that I could think the words 'human defilement' without a hint of irony?

I waved it away. In the end, I was still victorious in every sense.

"Ephraim," I said to the empty air; my words rang through the vast, empty chamber. "Sacrifices are always necessary to enact real change."

I could practically hear Ephraim's reply: "You're wrong!"

"Well," I replied with a smirk, "who among us is dead? I am the victor here, both morally and otherwise."

I basked in my own smugness for a brief moment, and then turned away from the chamber—and into the breastplate of Ephraim.

I scrambled away, mortified at the sight. "E-Ephraim?!" I stuttered. "How are you…?"

…But Ephraim was unmoving, and he refused to speak. I slowly stood, squinting suspiciously.

As I approached the still Ephraim, I realized what had happened. The vapid look in Ephraim's eyes, and his pale skin, clued me in:

"A morph."

I looked Ephraim up and down. "Could I have made him by accident…?" I scowled. "Or did Fomortiis create him to torment me?"

The latter was not unlikely, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had, indeed, absentmindedly created this morph.

No matter. Now I had a face to gloat to, rather than the air.

My smirk returned. "Ephraim, the proud prince of Renais. See, from what I heard, you never picked fights you couldn't win."

"I did what I had to do," I imagined his reply would be. "I _had_ to fight, to save the world."

"You didn't! _I did!"_ I shouted. I sharply gestured outside the temple. "I have spared Grado from the Demon King's wrath! Thanks to me, the tragedy I foresaw has been avoided."

"At what cost?"

"Bah!" I waved it away, and began to pace. "You and your self-righteous words." I stopped, shoving a pointer finger in his face. "You, the strong one! The powerful warrior, of exceptional mind, body, and character—so _perfect._ Hmph. And even your aversion to studying… your disdain for academics…" I began to scowl, growing more and more angry. "Even _that_ somehow made you more capable at what you set your mind to, and made you even more liked. It's unfair!"

"What do you want from me, Lyon?"

"I want—I want—You know what I want!" I hissed. "You already know. I was always weak... far too weak to be worthy of…" I moved over to the stairs and sat down, placing my hands on my knees. "I always wanted to be strong, like you, Ephraim. To have the strength to be a great leader, to be loved by all…" I laughed. "And I got my wish, didn't I? I may not have been strong enough to defeat you in combat, but I still won. Heh. Looks like intellect still triumphs over strength in the end, does it not?"

 _"Are you done mumbling to yourself?"_

I started, grasping my head as a slight headache racked my temples. "Fomortiis?"

"Hmhm. I was just curious if you wanted to watch Rausten Castle crumble, now that its inhabitants have joined the dead."

A chill ran down my spine. I could sense the satisfaction he gained from my reaction. "Of course not," I snarled. "If I ever wish to watch, I shall do so of my own volition."

Fomortiis chuckled. It was somehow rumbling, despite being entirely mental. "Suit yourself."

Hmph. I was now clearly aware of Fomortiis's constant presence. He was constantly looking over my shoulder, able to see my every move, just as I could see his.

I was not embarrassed. Perhaps he had heard my conversation with the Ephraim morph. It mattered little. I had offered him a far more intimate view into my mind in times past with no reservations. This was no worse.

I shook my head in disgust. Now I was imagining Fomortiis as a constant vigil, watching my every move… Regardless of his strength, Fomortiis had never had the ability to pay attention to all things at once. His conquest of Magvel would obviously be forefront on his mind, not my petty conversations with the dead.

No, Fomortiis was not truly watching over my shoulder, not like my father had.

I thought for a moment, and with a tiny flex of my power, I created a morph of King Vigarde. The second one I had made of him, I noted with mild amusement.

If this conversation would be anything like our real ones in life, Vigarde would open first, likely with more bluntness behind his words than he intended. "Lyon? What have you done?"

I smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Father."

Then, of course, something about the homeland. "You fancy yourself the king of Grado, now? You think that since you've won, you've surpassed me?"

"I am no king," I stated plainly. "I am no ruler. I am hardly even alive. I am merely the victor, who brought prosperity to Grado where it once would have suffered."

"What you have done is not right! This monstrous amount of death condemns your actions."

"Does it?" I murmured. "Am I wrong? Because the way I see it, I have truly succeeded. Though you have died, as have Ephraim and Eirika, I have truly accomplished my goal: to save Grado from destruction."

"That was _not_ your goal," my father continued. "You know your original goal. To cure my illness—to save me. You failed, Lyon."

My jaw set, and I clenched my hands into fists. "M-My goal evolved from there, when saving you proved impossible… I created a new body for you, to fill the void, but I am no fool. I realized that you were not real, and I was able to make my peace, before moving on to a grander objective."

I searched Vigarde's face for a reaction, before I realized that it was still a damn morph.

Feeling foolish, I sighed and turned away, to begin exploring the temple. I left the two morphs behind for now.

* * *

The legions of the Demon King worked fast. I watched through their eyes as they splintered a formation of Frelian troops, finally crushing the borders of Rausten into neighboring Jehanna and Carcino. The warriors had been steadfast, I give them that: they had nearly lasted a week.

All of Rausten was a monster-infested wasteland. The Demon King was still having his fun, however: a small village in the center of the country, filled with naught but farmers and civilians. Fomortiis looked down on them with his massive, godlike form, and crushed the town like a pile of ants.

Though ants don't scream…

I closed my eyes, covering my mouth and fighting my gag reflex. I withdrew my mind from the Demon King's and returned to the Black Temple.

"Do you see?" came my father's voice. "Do you understand the horrors you have wrought?"

"I'll not be preached to by you," I snarled.

"By whom, then?" Vigarde's voice was sharp. "Who must it be that talks sense into you?"

"Sense?" I laughed. "Sense!" I shook my head, having no witty reply. "You speak of _sense?_ What do you hope to accomplish with your small words, Father? Even if you talk me into a miserable, contrite heap, it will not change anything. If your intention is to inspire regret, you are wasting your time."

Vigarde was silent for a long moment. Or, perhaps, I took a moment to think of what he would say next.

I didn't like what I came up with. "Then why are you so upset?" said Vigarde calmly. "You are not one to have a short temper, Lyon, yet you do nothing but rage at me."

"Because I've been having these conversations with myself in my head since I first laid hands on the Fire Emblem," I breathed, "and now I have a face to place my anger on."

"Fair enough." My father likely wouldn't have responded like that, but I wanted to win this argument.

…But that was cheating, so I racked my memory for a more suitable reply. "We're done talking," Vigarde would have said with a huff, and were he a mobile corpse, he would have stormed away with a rather kingly swish of his cape.

For the next minutes, I could not think of a way to feasibly reinitiate conversation with the corpse of my father, so I turned to that of Ephraim instead.

I was half-surprised to find a third morph standing next to Ephraim.

"Eirika," I murmured. I took a step closer, and lifted a hand as though to touch her. "As perfect as always…"

My hand hovered inches from her cheek. Eirika's dead, yet indescribably beautiful face, did not react to my advance.

I began to tremble, and I slowly dropped my hand. She was so perfect; I could not touch her. Her beauty, her… charisma, which I could feel exuding from even this imitation of her… Untouchable.

"I told you before," I whispered. "I told you… how I felt." I looked down at her hands lying limp by her side; how I wanted to interlace my fingers through hers… "Yet I gave you no chance to reply."

"You… feared my response?" Eirika would have questioned. "You didn't _want_ an answer…"

"I suppose you're right," I sighed. "There was no avoiding our battle. If I knew how you felt in return, it could've… could've impaired my judgment, whenever we fought."

"Would you not have killed me then? If I had replied with the words you wished to hear, would you have spared me, and those who followed me?"

I clenched my teeth. "There is no way to know. And there is no reason to hypothesize. I cannot bring you back, Eirika."

"Haven't you?" she would have pleaded. "Look at me, Lyon! Look into my eyes!"

I did.

They were radiant blue…

"I am here, Lyon! I stand before you at this very moment. Now what will you do?"

My mouth opened slightly. I knew she was a morph. I did. But…

My eyes lingered on her hand once again. I offered my hand forward, brushing my fingertips against hers…

I grimaced painfully at her cold touch, and my hand retreated.

I began to pace, growling in frustration. Even now, I could not bear to touch sacred Eirika. Even now, I felt—I felt—

"Unworthy?" Eirika offered.

I sighed. "…Yes. Eirika, even now, after all I have accomplished…" I laughed humorlessly. "My childish insecurity prevents me from laying a finger on you. Even when I know I would suffer no judgment…" My eyes traced lines up Eirika's flawless form. "Even as you stand here, defenseless… I cannot take advantage of you."

 _And I never will._

After everything I had done, the real Eirika would never find it in her heart—even her own, all-encompassing heart—to forgive me. Eirika would never love me again, if she even _had_ loved me prior to her death.

And who was I kidding? She never loved me. I was a _friend_. She was more attached to… her knight, or perhaps that Frelian prince… I was never an option.

I watched her longingly from a distance, cursing my uselessness.

* * *

One month. The sands of Jehanna were stained red. The mountains of Carcino were all but leveled.

Renais couldn't even fight back. And Frelia was next.

All the people could do was run.

And run they did—into Grado, which inexplicably had yet to be touched by the apocalypse. A miracle, certainly.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. My first one in a very long time.

I watched Grado's heavily armed, multinational borders—watched the massive influx of refugees from elsewhere in war-torn Magvel. Grado, the last safe haven on the continent.

 _The continent falls,_ I mused, _yet Grado prospers._

I laughed.

 _It was all worth it._

* * *

"This does not make your actions _right_ ," said my father. "This is a fragile peace. What assurance have you that the Demon King will not revoke his word?"

"He had no reason to make that promise," I reasoned. "He could have refused, yet he didn't. He has no reason to go back on a promise he didn't have to make."

"'He didn't have to make that promise'," Ephraim snorted. "You left the fate of your country up to chance! Had he not granted your wish, all you fought for—all the lives you wasted—would have been for naught, and you would've been _powerless_ to stop him."

"But he _did_ grant my wish," I stated. "Excuse the cliché, but the ends truly do justify the means." I smirked. "Grado will see a peace it has never known before—an unrivalled prosperity. It is the population center of Magvel, from which all art, all of history, all of _everything_ will stem, from this moment forward."

"What made you _worthy_ of making this decision?" Eirika said sharply. "What right did you have to place Grado on this pedestal?"

"The right I _earned,"_ I said smugly. "The right I took for myself by choosing to tamper with the Fire Emblem." I jabbed a finger at Vigarde. "It took _righteousness!"_ At Ephraim: "It took _strength!"_ And at Eirika: "It took _worthiness!"_

I stepped closer, grinning at Eirika. "Eirika! All I ever wanted has come to fruition! Do you see? Can you feel it?" Another step. "…I can!"

I raised a hand. As it drew closer to Eirika's face, it began to tremble—but I pressed on.

I brushed the back of my hand against her cheek. A lightning sensation trailed down my spine at the touch of her cool flesh.

I suddenly recoiled, my smile dying instantly, my elation replaced by a cold dread.

"…I… I can't," I breathed, staring into Eirika's hallowed, lifeless eyes. "I can't…"

I retreated from the three morphs, disappearing into the depths of the Black Temple.

* * *

 **"LYON."**

I hadn't heard the voice of Fomortiis in some time; the rumbling feeling woke me from my slumber.

"Wh-What?" I asked, my anxiety growing. The Demon King was never one to bear good tidings.

"Today is a momentous day." Fomortiis laughed mockingly. "Not a cloud in the sky… the sun beats down. There is a beautiful view to the south."

My eyes narrowed. "I thought you already conquered the other nations," I stated. "Frelia fell more than a week ago."

"True."

I awaited further explanation, but the Demon King gave me no such satisfaction.

For several minutes, I refused to give in to his whim: I would not look at the sight he so wanted me to see.

But eventually, I had no choice but to cave in to his suggestion. My curiosity and boredom both got the better of me.

I peered through the Demon King's eyes, and I saw the southern majority of the continent from his massive perspective.

My homeland. Grado.

"What is the meaning of this?" I growled. "You gave me your word, Demon King! You said you would not harm Grado!"

"Indeed, and I intend to keep that promise," rumbled Fomortiis, amused. "You already know what you will see here."

"What I will…" I murmured, trailing off—but a distant _crack_ caught my attention.

A great rumbling began to shake at the ground, and within minutes, gouges opened in Grado's earth. Massive quakes began to ravage the land, tearing up the earth and casting thousands of miles of Grado as landslides into the ocean.

My soul fell empty.

The cataclysm.

I had foreseen this.

This was why…

…why I tampered with Grado's Sacred Stone in the first place…

…why it all happened…

…what… started everything…

I could only continue to watch in horror as the last remaining country on Magvel ripped itself asunder.

"St…"

A major city was swallowed by the ocean. Thousands of lives, all gathered there because of me.

"Stop it…"

Castle Grado's walls began to slip away.

 _"Stop it!"_

I hastily pulled myself away from Fomortiis, his laughter chasing me as I fled—running through the halls, fighting the overpowering weakness within, and losing miserably…

 **"HA**

 **HA**

 **HA**

 **HA"**

I leaned against a wall, panting for breath.

 _He knew._

 _'I know you better than you do.'_

My eyes were wide. _He knew._

I suddenly became aware of presences nearby.

"No," the three morphs said as one.

I fell to my knees, staring at the ground.

"You are weak," said Ephraim.

"You are unworthy," said Eirika.

"And you are wrong," said Vigarde.

"No… No, no…"

All for nothing… All for nothing…

"I was wrong," I breathed. "All along, I was… I was _WRONG!"_

I roared, leaping for the throat of my father's morph. It was a fragile construct, and dissipated instantly upon contact, leaving a satisfying burst of dust behind.

I panted, staring down at the ashes serving as my father's corpse. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply of my defeat.

"I am wrong. I am… weak. I am unworthy." I opened my dead gray eyes and turned to Ephraim and Eirika. The morphs held more life than I. "And… I am selfish."

I sat down on the cold stone, staring unfeelingly into my palms. "My central, defining flaw… Selfishness." Hidden behind a mask of selflessness so convincing that I, myself, believed it.

I stared up at Ephraim. "I did not want to become stronger to lead Grado to a brighter future. I wanted to be _better than you,_ and that's all it was. And that desire… that desire only fueled my weakness. My weakness _stemmed_ from my desire… it was not in conflict with it."

I ran a hand through my unkempt hair, surveying the ashes of Vigarde. "All I wanted, I thought, was to save Grado… And… _only_ Grado. And I did it… by sacrificing the rest of the world. My special homeland gets to live, and all others are forfeit at my leisure…"

I stood, and, in a quick motion, disposed of the useless Ephraim avatar.

"It seems that… in the end, this is truly the only way I could defeat you," I murmured, watching his remains billow to the floor. "Yet you still get the last laugh from beyond the grave, for you are still the stronger of us."

I turned to the final of my deluded objects of attention. "Eirika," I said. "My love for you… my unrequited passion… it is merely based on my desire, and a hallucinated sense of entitlement to you. Even when you are powerless and… fake, I still try to claim you as my own, and think it is punishment enough that I refuse to touch you…"

I gestured at her tiredly. "You… you are the root of it all, Eirika. My every choice has been fueled by my desire for you… I wanted strength, I wanted righteousness—I wanted it all, so I could be worthy enough to claim you. Everything, EVERYTHING I have ever done… was always motivated by my lust. All for you…"

My fingers were numb. My mind as well.

My insecurities, my inhibitions—gone.

I didn't care anymore. I knew I wasn't worthy, and I knew that nothing could change that.

I knew that the real Eirika was gone. I could never earn her love.

Nothing to hold me back, then.

I took the morph—the facsimile so, so close in appearance to Eirika… It wasn't her, but I no longer cared.

I took what I wanted. I ravaged the morph until I was satisfied.

It was the last thread holding me down.

* * *

I lay uselessly on the cold, stone floor of the Black Temple. Three ash piles joined me in solitude. No emotions crossed my mind; I had nothing left to feel. It was all over. The world was over.

I granted the Demon King the permission he wanted to stamp out the last of humanity—whatever was left of Grado was his. This was what he wanted all along. I didn't care.

…

He could easily have crushed me; have dominated me, bent me to his will, through sheer strength alone… but he chose to consume me from the inside out. To tease me with final victory, with only the intention of swiping it from my fingertips…

And… he got what he wanted. The satisfaction of devouring me from within… his sick appetite, sated, on the last human soul he had left to play with.

Perhaps, all along, I was just another morph, revived to be the Demon King's toy, thoroughly helpless…

…

 ** _"HM HM HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA…"_**

* * *

-END-


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